


Built For Comfort

by WheeledJack



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (EXTREMELY mild and very loving, (also previous), (previous) - Freeform, Body Worship, Breathplay, Chub, Fat Shaming, Feedee Starscream, Feeder Wheeljack, Feeder/Feedee, Feedism, Fisting, M/M, Mild D/s, Mutual Gaining, No Plot, Only absolutely smitten body worship, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Romance, Size Difference, Size Kink, Starscream can't stop being a tsundere even when he's on someone's spike, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stuffing, Switching, Together they are insufferable, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Weight Gain, Wheeljack can't stop cracking wise even with someone on his spike, no braincells, squashing, tagging just in case)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WheeledJack/pseuds/WheeledJack
Summary: Starscream rides Wheeljack's spike, but he's not as athletic as he was several tonnes ago. Wheeljack is delighted and absolutely smitten.
Relationships: Starscream/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Built For Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is written in first person from Wheeljack's perspective. I might upload a third person version if people ask for it.

Starscream towers over me, his aft resting heavily on my hips, his raised wings making him even more imposing. He’s always been taller, obviously, but he’s never been so _massive_ , especially lately. His weight borders on crushing, and I love it.

He smirks down at me as my wide optics drift up to his face. “Enjoying the view?” He asks, smugly, grinding down just a touch against my panel, briefly filling my already buzzing mind with static.

It takes me a moment to answer. “Uh huh,” I respond, slack-jawed.

He grinds again, looking down at me imperiously. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Ngh… You’re _gorgeous_.”

“That’s more like it,” he says, with a grin spreading across his face. He leans in to kiss the top of my helm – between the height difference and the thickness of his chassis impeding his flexibility, he can’t quite reach my mouth, and he still has to arch his back to pull it off. He starts to get into a real rhythm of grinding, after the agonising wait.

I’m treated to a close-up view of his chest – the plating’s bowed out and rounded considerably, dwarfing his cockpit and displaying tantalising little gaps where the metal hasn’t quite kept up with his growth. It’s nothing compared to the main event below, however.

Still rubbing against me, Starscream heaves himself upright again, once again displaying his belly. It’s huge and round, so large that it rests heavily on me in front of him, soft with fat and bloated with fuel. I’m far from svelte and I’ve put on more than a few, too, since we got together, but it’s nothing compared to him. He notices the heat under my panel and draws away for just long enough for the upper portion to transform away, and my spike immediately pressurises.

He laughs – it’s teasing, but fond. “Really? Already? You don’t need any foreplay at all?” His own panel slides open, out of sight behind his abdomen, and he rubs his valve against me.

“Why would I need it when I’ve got a stunning mech like you right there on top of me?” I grin right back up at him, knowing my admiration is getting him going just fine in turn – he’s already wet. I buck up against him and he moans softly, appreciatively. “You think you’re about ready? ‘Cause I definitely am,” I ask, tilting my head.

“Mhm.” His smile softens, and he shifts his belly out of the way to reach underneath himself to guide my spike inside. I groan as it slips in, optics shutting off for a moment to take the feeling in as he starts to ride me, slowly at first. He’s warm and slick and just a little tight, and the rippled mesh inside feels like bliss.

When I refocus, my hands drift reflexively to his midsection. Unlike his chest, the gains in his stomach have far, far outstripped the capacity of his plating. It’s almost all soft, velvety, pliable, sensitive mesh, with only little islands of overstretched plating scattered across it. He vents deeply in pleasure as my servos trace across it, stroking and kneading it as they go.

I can clearly feel solid, swollen tanks underneath the surface, despite the thickness of the mesh. “Primus. How much have you got in there?”

“Enough for about three of you on a good day, give or take,” he says, glibly, though I can tell he’s watching my expression closely. I can hear the pride in his voice, even though he’s just starting to pant. “Mostly give.”

I bite my lip, and I’m sure he can feel me twitch inside him. “Fffrag.”

“Oh, you like that?” He says, picking up the pace a little.

“Nn, yep, though I can tell you do too.” I respond with a grin of my own, grabbing the soft underside of his belly and giving it a rough squeeze.

He stifles a moan – it’s cute and a little funny, the way he tries to act dignified and above it all even when he’s riding someone’s spike. “Rude.” He huffs, feigning indignance.

“It’s not my fault you’ve – mm – been so _good_ lately,” I grab the sides of the lower roll of his midriff with both hands and knead, bucking my hips up into his.

He breaks optic contact, flustered, but keeps up with me, though that’s been getting tricky for him lately. “If you don’t… Shut up… Then I’ll have to… Make you!” he pants.

“As you wish, your highness.” I respond, my engine rumbling from a combination of arousal and the effort of pushing up against his massive frame. My hands shift from his belly to his wide aft, gripping and squeezing as I thrust into him as best I can, since he’s starting to tire. His fans are _roaring_ , doing their damnedest to dissipate some of the trapped heat generated by him shifting his weight so vigorously. The temperature inside his soaking valve is almost scorching.

“I knew you’d be hot like this, but I didn’t figure it’d be so literal,” I say with a breathless laugh.

“Did you hear – hff – what I said about -hff – making you shut up?”

“Hmm, nah, I- mmph!” My words and my thoughts are both cut short as he suddenly leans down over me. I’ve mentioned I’m a whole lot shorter than he is – I come up to just below his chest. I get a literal faceful of belly. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t get any air in my intake. There’s only him, him, him, filling all my senses. There’s nothing but the heavy softness of his frame just about crushing me, smothering me, and the feeling of his field – kept so close and tight that I can normally only brush its edges - enveloping me. I was already close, but it’s all so much, so fast, that I couldn’t hold back if I tried. I buck into him frantically, my hands gripping his sides as if my life depends on it, as I overload into him, muffledly calling his name.

Starscream draws back again once I slow down, looking pleased with himself though there’s a little concern in there, too. “Are you alright?” His fans have slowed, though he’s still very, very warm.

I give him a lazy thumbs up. “Yeahhhh.” I reply, dreamily, shutting off my optics for a moment. He laughs and rolls off of me, flopping heavily onto his back on the berth, then briefly turns to kiss me properly. Even his face feels hot to the touch. “Are you?” I ask.

He makes a small, discontented rumble. “That was good, but I’m, ah. Not exactly built for it these days.”

“I think you’re built just fine.” I say, pulling myself out of the haze to get on top of him, with my hands either side of him and my torso draped over his stomach, and look into his optics. “Perfect, even.” I lean in to kiss him, longer and deeper this time, before pulling back a little. “You’re not as athletic as you were, but it’s a good thing you don’t have to be, huh?”

“I suppo- _ohh.”_ His vox stops short as my thumb brushes his anterior node, and he ruts into it reflexively. He chuckles. “You sly little thing.”

“You just lay back and I’ll take care of you.” I say, pressing my thumb against it and rubbing in small, slow circles. “It’s only right, after a performance like that.”

“Mmm… Don’t mind if I do.” He replies, then arches his back and groans as I slip two fingers into his valve, still teasing his node. It’s effortless, given how well lubricated he is with his own lubricant and my transfluid. I curl them against his frontmost wall and he whimpers, needily.

“Ngh… More. Please.”

“Tch. Greedy.” I say, lovingly, pressing the palm of my free hand into his full tanks to soothe them as I slide my remaining fingers into him, then start rocking my hand back and forth to rub at his node and stimulate him from the inside. He squirms, trying to press up against the hand on his belly and the hand in his valve at the same time, his wings attempting and failing to flutter against the berth as his hands grip it tightly.

I’m captivated by his face, his frame, his responses. “Primus, you’re beautiful like this.” I speed up the movements of the hand at his valve and rub his belly deeper in response, and he lets out a high pitched, desperate whine. He’s right where I want him. “Hey. Let me at your spike.” He doesn’t even finish nodding before the rest of his panel snaps open, releasing it. It’s dripping so much fluid in anticipation that some is running down the shaft, and it looks absolutely delicious. The size had intimidated me once, but it’s incredible what a little trial and error and a whole lot of determination can do. My fingering slows somewhat and I reposition myself beside him and further down, and lean in towards the tip of his spike. I catch his optics widening and brightening and hear a little gasp of anticipation. I stop completely, hands and all, and watch his face.

“Ugh, damn you!” He snarls. “Why’d you stop?!” He pushes his array up and into my hand and toward my intake. “Keep going!”

“Not if you’re gonna take that tone with me,” I respond with a broad grin. “Ask nicely.”

He growls, engines revving, and glares at me over the hill of his stomach. “Fine. Keep going, _please_. You’re awful, teasing me like- _ahhhh!_ ” He doesn’t get to finish ranting before I slip my whole hand into his valve, filling it, and take the tip of his spike into my mouth and start bobbing. He bucks his hips, quivering and whimpering. “Please-p-please-please- _please_ -” His vox is getting loud and high and garbled from the stimulation, and I can tell it won’t take much, but I give him much anyway.

I ball my hand into a fist, filling him, and make a come-hither motion with the whole thing, and bob my head deeper, taking his whole spike. He arches and writhes and wails fit to break the audials, his vox full of static, as transfluid pumps into my throat and his valve practically drowns my hand. I keep going through his overload as he thrusts into my face and gradually calms, his wailing turning into little whines. I pull away as gently as I can and swallow the remainder of the load in my mouth, gasping. We’re both panting now. His round face is wearing a dazed, contented smile, and he doesn’t say a word as he looks up at me lovingly. I beam back, and lay down next to him (after quickly wiping my hand on the berth – it’ll need cleaning anyway) and wrap my arm around his soft frame, nestling into him. He dozily kisses the top of my helm.

“Was that good?” I ask.

“Mmm.”

“Thought so.”


End file.
